


My Favourite Kind of Savagery

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar sort of fails at Big Bad Qunari, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Erotic Electrostimulation, Established Relationship, I don't think Dorian cares, M/M, Marking, Overstimulation, Rape Roleplay, Scent Kink, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has a thing (a secret, embarrassing thing) about Qunari savages. Minor problem: Adaar is something like the least savage Qunari in existence.</p><p>Luckily for him, Adaar has a thing about Dorian having a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the following Dragon Age Kink Meme prompt:  
> So from the get-go it's pretty clear that Dorian doesn't actually have a problem with the inquisitor's vashoth-ness in terms of worrying about his personal safety; Adaar was clearly born outside of the qun, and acts like it.
> 
> That said, one day they're off fighting maker-knows-who and it turns to shit- more enemies than anticipated or an ambush or whatever you want- and Dorian gets to see a side of Adaar he hadn't previously thought to attribute to the man: massive and terrifying, lips peeled back from dagger-teeth (had they always been that sharp?,) snarling and drenched in gore as he plows through ranks of humans like they were nugs.
> 
> Suddenly the thought of being manhandled onto his belly and fucked stupid by a savage, snarling vashoth is all he can consider. He doesn't actually think Adaar is mindless, and is extremely hesitant to bring it up lest it come across as fetishizing dehumanization, but he wants to play that role so badly: wants to kick and thrash and be thoroughly overpowered, held down or propped up and fucked like it's the only thing he's good for.

Adaar is fascinating; solid and strong, he fights with deceptive speed and fluidity, calculated and controlled, not the beast of Dorian's childhood stories. Dorian has seen him take a man's head off with one blow; has also seen him spend a good twenty minutes attempting to explain the purpose of cake forks to Sera. All of it with that same practiced calm.

When Dorian allows Adaar to coax him into bed (it didn't take that much coaxing, granted), he is a gentle and considerate lover. "Don't you dare leave a mark." Dorian scolded him, once, early on, and now Adaar is always careful and Dorian can't really take it back. Oh, yes, he can imagine that conversation. _I know you're actually a perfect gentleman who hates being judged by how he looks, but do you think you could be more like the savage the propaganda of my homeland says you should be?_

No. Not happening. And Adaar's patience and control can become its own form of delightful cruelty. Dorian enjoys the luxury of being drowned in kisses, taken apart by inches over hours until he's ragged, until the only thing that exists is pleasure and Adaar's voice purring in his ear _You can come once more, can't you?_

Dorian entertains all sorts of idle fantasies he knows won't come true. He'll just add that one to the list.

* * *

Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, everything goes to shit.

Dorian is just trying to keep up barriers on Adaar and Blackwall, letting Sera do the job of providing covering fire. His mana is low and blood running into his eyes is making aiming his more destructive spells a bit of a risk, but barriers he can do. Sera is shrieking something, half gleeful, half enraged, but all Dorian can do is think _if this isn't the last of them we are well and truly fucked_. Of course, he'd thought that about three times already. Where were they all coming from? Is there an invisible bloody rift behind that hill, spewing the bastards out on top of them?

Probably the only thing that is keeping them all alive is the fact that Adaar has apparently snapped, cutting down Venatori left and right like something out of a Minrathous penny dreadful, one of those Real True Stories which nonetheless manages to hit all the propaganda points in exact order. Drenched in Tevinter blood, snarling as he lands each blow, the only part left out is the ruination of the blushing maiden-- _concentrate, Pavus_.

The last Venatori falls. Dorian hopes it is the last, because as the barrier around Adaar flickers out, he stumbles, light-headed as the depletion of his mana catches up with him. _You will not faint._ he tells himself. _That mud is probably half Druffalo shit, and also nobody will ever let you forget it._ Thankfully Solas isn't here to make smug, irritating comments about reserving ones energy.

Instead, he has Sera. "Ooh, that one's a real gusher. You going to swoon, like a proper princess?"

"Where did _you_ learn the word _swoon_." Dorian asks absentmindedly, gingerly raising one hand to the aforementioned head wound. It isn't serious, but it is one of those ones that annoyingly, bleeds a lot and makes it look like it is. Blackwell is heading back towards them; Adaar is hanging back. Checking the bodies?

"Varric knows lots of words, but they're proper words, like. Not your words. Your words are shit." Sera explains, prancing over to yank an arrow out of a body with a sickening sound. "Your words are about magic and crap and demons and magic and his are mostly about snogging. And some about dwarves. Dwarves are alright, I guess."

"You two okay?" Blackwall asks them. He looks about as tired as Dorian feels.

"They're dead, and we're not, so, yeah." Sera says. "Dorian might swoon. That's a posh faint."

"It looks worse than it is and I'm _not_ , and it's _not_." Ugh, how is Sera so perky right now. "Is Adaar--?"

Thankfully, Blackwall seems to get the question being asked. "A little unsettled, but he'll be fine. He said we should head back to camp without him."

"You two go. I'll keep him company."

Sera grins, and makes a rude hand-gesture. Blackwall's eyes flicker from Dorian to the pacing figure wandering around the piles of bodies on the other side of the clearing and back again, and then he just nods.

Dorian makes his way slowly over to Adaar. The bodies are a lot more in _parts_ over here. In the midst of it, Adaar is standing very very still, taking deep slow breaths. "I said you should go back to camp."

"I'm contrary." Dorian replies, reaching out. The reaction is immediate, and unexpected. Adaar pulls him close with a punishing grip on one arm and a half-growl, teeth on show. "My injuries really aren't that bad. I'm just low on mana." he adds, shakily, when Adaar doesn't say anything else, just _looks_ at him.

They're silent for a while. Adaar doesn't let him go, just holds him there, tight like he's afraid Dorian might run away if he lets go, deep even breaths. Eventually he releases Dorian from his embrace, and it's Adaar as usual, calm and gentle and looking just a little embarrassed. "Should we go back to camp?"

"I'm hoping for a bath and peeled grapes." Dorian says, smiling to show there's no hurt.

"You can have a mana potion and Scout Harding's special stew." Adaar replies, with a grin that doesn't show all of his teeth.

At camp, Sera threatens to shave his hair off for using the phrase _southern cuisine_ \- "people who aren't magic dicks just say _food_ ", and asks him whether food in Tevinter is "full of demons", to which Dorian tells her it is, of course. All demons, sacrificial babies, and olives, although he personally doesn't like the olives. Adaar just sits by the fire and watches them, smiling warmly. Business as usual in the Inquisition.

* * *

There are bruises on his arm in the shape of Adaar's fingers. They fade quickly-- Dorian doesn't bruise easily, which is normally rather a blessing-- but they stay long enough.

He sees Adaar's eyes rest on them, worrying probably, and takes his hand, pressing the warm palm against his own skin. "No harm done. I didn't mind."

Adaar flushes dark. "I know. I could smell--" He cuts himself off.

Dorian remembers being held close on a battlefield, and the way Adaar sometimes presses his nose in spots where nobody needs to be sniffing when Dorian is either worked up or fucked out enough not to argue with him about it, puts two and two together and comes up with _oh fuck_ , shortly followed by _oh, fuck me_. "I love _who_ you are, Amatus. I know the difference between reality and silly fantasies. Think nothing more of it."

Adaar's eyes on him, calm, calculating. "So that's a fantasy, then."

"If it bothers you, I'll not bring it up again." Although, the implication that Adaar can smell when he's turned on is something that he'll be working into that fantasy in private, definitely.

"Haven't worked out if it bothers me yet." Adaar purrs, rolling on top of Dorian. Not putting his weight on, just caging Dorian beneath him. "Perhaps you should give me some details."

Oh, that is _cheating_ \-- Adaar knows what it does to Dorian, to make him verbalise his desires like this. He struggled at first, with the old shame, but now it's just anticipation, knowing that most of the time Adaar's response is to give him whatever it is he wants, and then some. "I-- oh, you _bastard_."

"I'm waiting." Adaar says, sing-song, hand stilling on Dorian's cock.

"Ngh." Dorian says, intelligently, trying to put his thoughts in order. "It's terribly sordid and stereotypical, I'm warning you."

Adaar kisses him on the corner of his mouth, infuriatingly chaste given what his hand is doing, and pulls away when Dorian tries to turn his head and deepen the kiss. "Quit with the delaying tactics."

"Fine. I want one of the Qunari savages out of my childhood bedtime stories to pin me down, tear my clothes off while I struggle futilely and fuck me raw." He runs the words back through his head, decides that needs clarifying. "I want _you_ to mark me as yours, take what you want from me without quarter or mercy."

"In case you haven't worked it out by now, what I _want_ is normally to see you come so hard you see stars." Adaar tells him, but if it's not Dorian's imagination the motions of his hand are a little rougher than usual.

"Mmm-- we could work that one in. I don't _want_ to want it, of course, but you can be very convincing."

Adaar's response is to nuzzle into Dorian's neck and whisper, dark and low, "I tell you what, _bas saarebas_. If you can stop yourself from begging for more, I might let you go."

_That_ makes Dorian's brain blank out a moment, the way Adaar's tongue wraps itself around the foreign words, the implications of the words themselves, oh _please_. He doesn't say that out loud. He does come with a groan that Adaar swallows with a kiss. "Right." Dorian says, when Adaar lets him breathe again. "So apparently that's a thing."

"Guess I have to keep you now." Adaar says, nuzzling back into the crook of Dorian's neck and inhaling deeply.

"I didn't beg." Dorian points out, mostly because Adaar will take it as a challenge.

Sure enough, he raises his head, and grins. "Yet."

But they don't continue _that_ game that night.

* * *

Actually, Adaar doesn't mention it again for _weeks_ , and Dorian's not sure how to bring it up. Plus, there's demons and bandits and red templars and venatori and, generally, _the end of the fucking world_ to distract them. Sometimes he doesn't see Adaar for days; sometimes they crawl into bed together too tired to do anything but try to get more than two hours of sleep at a time for once.

Eventually, though, there is a lull. In it, Adaar comes to him one afternoon and asks if Dorian is free tonight. He is bouncing on the soles of his feet a little bit, which is adorable, and which also means he's planning something.

Dorian acquiesces immediately, of course. Adaar planning things generally ends well for him. After dinner, Adaar leads him down into an unused part of the Undercroft, where he's apparently made himself-- well, a _nest_ is what Dorian would call it. A couple of crates, a lamp, a bed of sorts that's mostly just a pile of furs, a few random bottles. "Adaar?"

"I was thinking." Adaar says, stepping close. "If I had caught myself a pretty Tevinter prize, where would I go to enjoy him?"

Dorian's breath catches. "Ah, yes. Your quarters wouldn't really fit the scene, I suppose."

"Is that a yes?" 

Dorian counts to three in his head. "Usual watchword." he tells Adaar, and then tries to dart past him, towards the archway that leads to freedom.

In the next breath, he's on his back on a pile of furs and Adaar is pressing heavily on top of him. Dorian squirms, trying to get free, but with Adaar's weight on top of him it's a losing battle from the beginning. Fighting back just makes Adaar grab his wrists and pin them over his head with a growl that sends shivers down Dorian's spine. "Saw you in the battle today. I thought: what is that _bas_ doing fighting, when he should be full of my cock?"

Dorian kicks in response, tries to twist but only manages, apparently, to help Adaar turn him over. One of Adaar's hands planted between his shoulder-blades is enough to keep him down while the other yanks at his clothes, tearing, pulling, exposing him to cold air and Adaar's tender mercies. Such as they are. One thick finger penetrates him without warning, teasing, seeking, Adaar's knowledge of his body in the hands of his imaginary captor.

He thrashes, and Adaar just chuckles. "Eager for it?" Two fingers now, and Adaar twists them in a way that shocks a sob out of Dorian's throat. "Oh, but you _are_. Did you get caught on purpose? Needed fucked so badly you'd spread your legs for the enemy?"

"No, I--"

Adaar fucks into him, and whatever weak fumbling excuse he was about to make is lost. "If you'd stop whimpering like a bitch in heat, _bas saarebas_ , maybe I'd believe you." Teeth in his shoulder, pain he doesn't know whether he wants to escape or beg for more of. "Don't they give you enough back home? You're starving for it. Don't worry, I won't let you go without. I'm going to keep you chained to my bed, keep you well-fucked--"

Dorian almost giggles inappropriately, because how like Adaar to, in the middle of roleplaying captive-and-captor, include assurances that he doesn't mean this as a short-term thing. Then Adaar decides to manhandle him into a slightly different position, apparently to gain better access so he can leave a fuller range of marks across Dorian's shoulders, and the change of angle has Dorian moaning a decidedly out of character _yes, please_ and Adaar huffing in pleased laughter against the nape of his neck, but letting him get away with it.

Somewhere along the way, Dorian has forgotten that he's supposed to be trying to escape. Why would he do that, when Adaar's hands are on his hips, slamming into him brutal and perfect. "You look so good wearing my marks." Adaar growls, and that's not really entirely in character either, but the next thing Adaar does is wrap a hand around Dorian's cock, and the only words left in him are _fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Gasping, exhausted, he leans back into Adaar's embrace. He feels it when Adaar switches back; the hands that support rather than restrain, the soft press of lips against his neck. "Are you okay?"

Really? Was Dorian not clear enough about the _fuck yes please_ just a moment ago? "I'm liking the whole chained-to-your-bed plan right now." he teases. "Mostly because I'm not sure I can walk."

"You want me to carry you through Skyhold?"

"Naps in your sex-nest it is, then." Dorian says happily, twisting around for a kiss.

"Sex-nest?" Adaar asks, brow furrowing, and then his eyes flick down. "Ah-- those are going to show, I think."

"I'll wear my most demure outfit." Dorian responds. "Now come here and cuddle or I might be tempted to escape."

(They still show. Dorian can't find it in him to care.)

* * *

And then this happens:  
Iron Bull: Dorian. Adaar. I love you guys, but if I have to stand downwind of you two any longer I am going to _fuck_ that dragon to death.  
Cassandra: *disgusted noise*


	2. Chapter 2

"I was thinking." Adaar says. Dorian feels it more than hears it, a low rumble.

"If you expect me to talk philosophy," he says, tilting his head up a little, "you should bring the topic up _before_ you fuck me boneless. Just for future reference."

"Actually," Adaar says, large warm hand stroking along Dorian's shoulders, tracing the pattern of slowly fading marks, "I was thinking about chaining you to my bed. Not necessarily actual chains. Rope might be more aesthetically pleasing."

_Oh_. "I'm always aesthetically pleasing."

"Which is why it would be a shame to put you in anything less than the finest restraints." Adaar tells him. "I know places in Orlais that sell that stuff. Nice leather cuffs, maybe. Something you could struggle in without hurting yourself. How would you feel about that?"

Dorian squirms a little just imagining it. "You had me at _aesthetically pleasing_ , amatus."

Adaar chuckles. "Just checking. I know you like me holding you down, but proper restraints are a different thing entirely. How about blindfolds?"

Dorian freezes, trying to think of a way to say _no, thank you_ without sounding like-- well, he's not sure like what, but Adaar wouldn't have asked if that isn't something he likes, and--

"That's a no, then."

"I didn't say anything yet!"

"It's my no. I'm not into pushing limits." Adaar's fingers gentle on his cheek, tilting Dorian's face towards him. "I'm the reverse, actually. Blindfolds don't bother me but restraints make me freak out. I break things. Broke a guy's nose, once. Awkward. I can take a lot of pain and enjoy it, if the scene is right. Giving pain, only with my bare hands. I don't do any sort of implement. Gags are my other big no. I think that's the main ones."

Adaar calmly listing off everything only makes Dorian feel _more_ like an idiot. "I-- would agree with you on the gags."

"You do make such pretty noises." Adaar tells him, smiling. "And if I really want to shut you up, there are better ways to do it." He pauses. "How about toys?"

If he's talking about what Dorian thinks he's talking about, this is much more familiar ground. "A resounding _yes_. I used to have quite the little collection at home, for those nights I didn't feel like trying to find a bed partner who wouldn't try to blackmail me afterwards. I know a few spells that are fun, if you get one of the right material."

"Spells?" Adaar asks. "Are you talking actual _sex magic_. That's really a thing?"

Dorian smirks at him, pleased beyond words to have found a topic on which he has the upper hand, so to speak. "It can be _very_ stimulating. Not a substitute for the real thing, of course. Maybe your Orlesian supplier could get me a few things to keep myself occupied while you're gallivanting about, righting wrongs. You might come home to find me in your bed, already open and aching for you. How would you feel about that?"

Adaar's low growl tells him everything he needs to know. "Kadan--" he says, like a warning. One Dorian fully intends to ignore.

"So I should pick a day when I know I won't need to be able to walk on the morrow, then?" he adds, unable to resist a little additional teasing, and Adaar rolls them both, pinning Dorian down and demonstrating some of his 'better' methods of stopping Dorian talking.

If he was keeping track, not that he is, Dorian would count this one as a win. (Adaar is still well ahead, even so).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian plots a surprise for Adaar for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings (or promises?) for this chapter: sex toys, electrical stimulation, overstimulation

He goes through Josephine to source what he needs-- as embarrassing as _that_ conversation is, if he wants to surprise Adaar, to _really_ surprise Adaar, he can't let him know what he's up to. Promises of silence (easy, she thinks it's _romantic_ or some rot) and one delicious box of surprises later, his next problem is picking when to go through with it.

Keeping Adaar off his scent-- so to speak-- is as simple as taunting him about when, exactly, he's going to take Dorian shopping. That's not the problem. The problem is, the _idea_ of the surprise is all very well, but if Adaar's just come back from a day of taking the heads off the undead, it might take a bit of the shine off it all.

A couple of days of negotiation with some Orlesian noble Dorian really cannot be bothered to care about is the perfect opportunity. Dorian won't be going because he's not of much help (his undeniable charm tends to be outweighed by the fact that there is always someone who hears 'Tevinter' and thinks 'blood magic'). Adaar will spend the time bored and irritated by noble idiots who think the shine of the 'Herald of Andraste' is worth having him around but can't help asking stupid questions about the part where he's a Qunari. However, he will _not_ have spent the time knee deep in mud, sludge, and various other unmentionable things. Perfect.

To be honest, once he makes the decision, it's impossible to keep his mind off his plans. He sits in the library, eyes resting on some book or other-- can't really call it reading-- considering and reconsidering all the little details. He waits until they have confirmation of the success of the negotiations, the scout who rides ahead to let them know that the Inquisitor should be with them by nightfall.

The last step in his plan is one that he's sure is going to get him a lot of ribbing later, but it has to be done. "Bull, can I ask you a favour?"

The Iron Bull grins. "Oh, I bet this is going to be good."

"Hush. I just need you to make sure Adaar goes straight to his quarters when he gets back and doesn't get waylaid by any of the usual nonsense."

Bull grins wider. "That lucky _bastard_. Sure, can do. You're going to owe me and my boys a round, though."

"Thank you, and shut _up_." Dorian replies, with a flourish that ends in a rude gesture, and ignores the laughter chasing him out of the tavern.

In the safety of Adaar's quarters (technically not _their_ quarters, even though Dorian rarely sleeps anywhere else of late), he takes a bath. Adaar, who secretly likes his little luxuries, has a small stash of good soap, bars that smell of honey and spices. Dorian has spent an inordinate amount of time just paying attention to what scents Adaar prefers, quietly removing a few things from his own stocks as a result. Adaar likes soft, sweet scents, fruit and sugar and spice, nothing too sharp or strong. In Tevinter, that's the sort of scent that a woman would use, but since following along with what Adaar likes often gets him things like a near-purring Qunari nuzzling him while murmuring nonsense about how Dorian smells like cake and Adaar wants to eat him, Dorian really doesn't care.

He picks the honey soap, not lingering in the bath as long as he would normally, because his little box is in his line of sight and he can't stop thinking about it.

There's a few things in the box, but the one he wants today, it's-- well, it's just a little thing. It doesn't need to be anything more-- the trick is in the combination of materials used, the shape, the very specific way it reacts to certain types of magic. Skin still a little damp, he wraps himself in one of Adaar's sheets and contemplates it. The lightest touch with fire magic and it heats to skin temperature and stays there. When it first arrived, he'd done this just to check it and almost gave into the temptation to just find Adaar and ask if he wanted a show.

He'd been in a war table meeting at the time, which might have made it awkward, and this plan is better, but imagining Adaar's response-- oh, he needs it inside _now_. He spills a little oil in his eagerness, but nothing Adaar's sheets haven't seen before. His own fingers at first, just as much as necessary, not to tease himself. That comes later.

The toy is curved such that one end rests just against his sweet spot, with a flat round base of gleaming metal. When it is in him, it looks like any other plug, more or less. He spends a little time contorting in front of Adaar's mirror to confirm the effect. Maker, he's never gotten this worked up this early in playing with a toy but in the past he's never had the knowledge that he was waiting for someone to come home and catch him at it.

And yes, part of it is the allure of the forbidden, of submitting to a Qunari, of all the things he shouldn't want. A much larger part of him simply wants to give Adaar everything he can. Dorian is terrible at love, at speaking his feelings plainly, but he can give Adaar this-- little secret parts of himself Dorian never dared to show anybody else, never dared to trust that far.

Adaar will understand what it means. He trusts that, too. Adaar is a man who can take _you know, if we were in Tevinter you'd have a lifetime's worth of blackmail material on me by now_ and return with _A lifetime? I like the sound of that._ as if he's reading the real meaning straight off of Dorian's skin.

Is he not back yet?

He knows the answer. He just doesn't like it. He crawls onto the bed again, instead of letting his thoughts wander further. If this was a warm Tevinter evening, and Dorian was alone and with no hope of being anything but alone for the rest of the night, the next step would be naughty poetry.

Adaar has a small stash of that, too, although none of Dorian's favourites, which are mostly in Tevene and probably not available in translation. A pity, because Adaar doesn't speak Tevene and therefore can't quote any at Dorian. Unless Dorian teaches him; Adaar knows a smattering of cursewords in a wide variety of languages, and adding a few naughty turns of phrase in Tevene to his linguistic capabilities should be a piece of cake.

Thoughts wandering again. Dorian lays about on Adaar's bed for a while, enjoying the shift of the toy inside him as he moves, grinding against the mattress a little but not very seriously, and picturing himself and Adaar as the young sailor and the pirate captain, respectively, in the overly flowery but otherwise quite commendable book of Orlesian erotic poetry Adaar has apparently acquired since the last time Dorian checked his bookshelves.

Eventually, though, he can't resist any longer. Turning onto his back, he spreads his legs wider, tilts his hips upwards, and presses two fingers against the base of the toy. Just a little wave of mana, a vibration which spreads from the point where his fingers touch, amplified, echoing, slowly fading again-- oh, Maker, this one's _good_. A longer pulse next, letting the vibration build; it reaches a peak and stays there.

The additional mana is not wasted, though, as he realises when he lifts his fingers away and it takes a lot longer than he expected for the vibration to fully fade away. That offers possibilities. Like doing it again, deliberately pushing additional mana into it this time, so that he still has the vibration at full force when he switches to the lightning trick.

 _That_ makes his hips arch off the bed. If this was just for him then Dorian suspects this session would not much last much longer than this. But it's not for him. It's for Adaar, and so Dorian keeps his hands off his cock and instead closes his eyes and imagines Adaar watching, directing even. Making him repeat that little trick, again and again, because it seems that Adaar never tires (will never tire, he hopes) of watching Dorian in the throes of pleasure, the more desperate the better. Making him beg.

He loses track of time. He loses track of everything that isn't this lovely cycle of pleasure and need and restraint and want. _Aching for you_ , Dorian had promised, and he fully intends to deliver.

It actually surprises him when he hears the door swing open, followed by Adaar's voice, a little sour. "Orlesians. Honestly. I think I am finally beginning to understand why Bull hates shir--"

Then he just stops. Dorian opens his eyes, panting as the vibrations wind down. He had thought of several delightfully naughty and witty greetings for just this occasion, but they're not coming to mind right now. "Welcome home?"

Adaar growls. "This _entire room_ ," he says, stalking-- stalking is definitely the right verb-- over to the bed, "is _thick_ with the smell of how much you want to come. Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes." Oh, look, he can do words. Especially that word.

Adaar inhales deeply. "This is one of your magic toys? Can you come from that alone?"

Why is he talking and not _touching_? "Yes, and no, you know I can't, and _please_ , Adaar." Dorian's never managed to come without something touching his cock, and Adaar knows it. Knows it and uses it against him, the wonderful _bastard_.

"Please _what_ , Dorian? Please suck you off, fuck you while you're a sobbing, overstimulated mess, and then slide that pretty toy back into you and have you give me a little demonstration of what you've been up to while I'm away?" Adaar picks up his hand, kisses the knuckles, sweetly romantic in contrast to his words. "Please that?"

Dorian still doesn't think he can come from the toy alone, but one of these days Adaar might just talk him to orgasm. "Yes, _yes_ , please all of that, Amatus--"

It is only the quickest he's ever come if you don't count the hours of waiting and weeks of planning. By the time he comes back to himself Adaar is kissing him, the taste of Dorian on his tongue, clever hands working the toy out of him. The sound of Adaar practically tearing at his own clothes, impatient like he never is, is in itself a little jolt of pleasure.

But it's still a slow, teasing slide when Adaar pushes into him. Dorian whines at the sensation. "Too much?" Adaar asks, stilling for a moment.

"Yes. Give me more." Dorian tells him, and when Adaar hesitates a moment more, "I can still make words. Fix that?"

Adaar does; first by kissing the breath out of him, and then by fucking him through _begging for more_ and just _begging_ and into that state where it's just sounds, _ah-ah-ah_. At the back of his mind he knows, when he's like this, that he won't come. It scarcely matters; he's not chasing orgasm now, he just wants Adaar to give him enough stimulation to drown in, to drive everything else out of his head.

Besides, he thinks idly, as Adaar's fingers trace his cheek, if Adaar wants Dorian to come again, he will. _That_ his love has proven time and time again, often over the top of Dorian's not very genuine protests that he couldn't _possibly_.

This time, he just luxuriates in the combined sensation of Adaar's spend, warm inside him, and Adaar's kisses, wet against his neck. "Mmm."

"Are you still with me, Dorian?"

"Mmm?" Dorian blinks up at Adaar, who has moved back to give him a little room to breathe. Sliding out of him despite Dorian's half-formed protest at the emptiness he leaves behind. It takes a moment to remember that he has to make words with his mouth. "'m goood."

Adaar chuckles. "Clearly. Very good. I'm going to have trouble coming up with a suitable reward for that little show."

 _Show_. He raises his head a little, to figure out where the toy has gone-- oh, Adaar has put it on the side-table, with the book. That's way too far to reach right now. Adaar can fetch it.

Adaar sees where he's looking and shakes his head. "As much as I like you all blissed-out and incoherent, we're going to have a nap now. Sex magic demonstrations can wait."

Dorian shakes his head back. "No magic. Just-- please?"

Finally Adaar gets his meaning. "You want it inside while you're sleeping?" At Dorian's nod, he reaches out, first examining it and then, with caution that is hardly needed, slides it back into him. Then he arranges Dorian in the bed, fetching pillows, curling around him and covering them both with a blanket. "There. Good?"

"Mmm." Dorian agrees. He can feel it, just a little reminder. "Want to keep you inside me. Long as I can."

Adaar's arms tighten around him. "You-- _Nap._ Then some dinner, because you are going to need your strength for the things I am going to do to you later-- damn, still don't have any proper restraints..."

"In the box." Dorian informs him, and then promptly falls asleep.


End file.
